Why am I still awake?

It's been one of those nights.  Good intentions of keeping the boys on schedule with bedtime, but without success.  I did remember to have Paul read in his own bed tonight.  I read a magazine while he putzed with his book and eating Special K.  "Maybe if I lay here for awhile he'll actually fall asleep in his own bed."  But, yes, the needy beagles had to come scratching at the door to find their mommy!  Try it with the dogs.  OK.  We all fell asleep.  Try to leave the room without him waking.  As I lay there in his bed it is all too familiar.  Deja vu.  I was in this place three years ago trying to get Paul to sleep in a bed by himself.  He even fell back in his habit of gently touching my eyelashes as he fell asleep.  I guess 10-1/2-year-old habits for a sensory-seeking boy are hard to break.  It made me feel content, just like when he was a tiny baby.  Forcing myself out of a cozy, warm bed, I escaped very quietly.  However, turning the darn door knob did it.  Up pops Paul.  "I'm going upstairs.  Just lay down and try again."  Nope.  He exited the room as fast as possible and crawled in with Nick, yet again.  What will be the miracle of all miracles to get the kid to feel comfortable sleeping by himself???  Who knows.  Nick will move out in six years and Paul will be back sleeping with me again.  Cripes.

Happiness is sometimes a warm puppy

If happiness is a warm puppy, then I should be six times happier than usual today, but, I'm not.  Every day I wake up and usually I dread the day ahead of me.  I dread the mundane, boring, lonely days especially during my kidless weekends.  No gumption.  Can't get myself to do anything to make myself a better person; exercise, eat right, stop drinking a mountain of sugar daily, get a job where I actually have to talk to other people, etc.  Forcing myself into doing things doesn't always work.  I just X off the days on the calendar one by one, as if I'm in my own personal jail cell.  But how long is my sentence?  No idea...

Well, tonight is the night I add a new dimension to my life.  I am now a blogger.  What does that mean?  I'm not sure.  I have always found writing to be therapeutic and thought perhaps this was the best medium to do it.  Who do I want to read my blog?  Not sure.  Nonjudgemental, similar-aged women who can in some way relate to my feelings and daily life challenges.  I find myself needing a place to vent and be honest with how I daily hate the title I now hold of "single mom."  It is not the life I ever wanted to be living.  When I look back at my days as a wife, I also remember days when I was overwhelmed being a stay-at-home mom, but at least I knew I had backup and eventual relief from another adult in the house; the relief of not being the primary income earner of a family of four.  I used to be stressed about our annual income and always thought it would be nice to have more cash for material things or actually take a vacation or two every now and then. Now here I sit somehow surviving on $200 a week child support, barely $10,000 a year for my piddly transcriptionist job, and a few bucks here and there for taking care of other people's dogs while they are vacationing or doing other fun things with their families.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have predicted ten years ago that I would be living this scary, insecure life with my two boys.  My brain is constantly jumping back and forth with what I should do to make things better, how to make things better, or just do nothing different and wait for something magic to happen. 

The opportunity has presented itself for me to go do something for just me.  Good choice?  For me, yes.  For everyone, probably not.